Ain't Quite the Same Sky
by also known as LuLu
Summary: [CH 1-4 REVISED, CH 5 UP] Four years after the strike ends, Jack makes his way to Santa Fe and ends up with a job he doesn't expect, one that will bring him into a very complicated situation...
1. Identity

_Disclaimer_: Newsies isn't mine, but all original characters (ie Cate, Topper, Keystone) are mine.  
  
_Author's Notes_: My ongoing attempt at writing something not totally wracked by angst (because, as it's known, I am the Angst Whore™) and incomplete continues. Chapters 1-4 have been revised...again (and so have the Author's Notes, yay). Hopefully there aren't any more errors. Please review! It's muchly appreciated.  
  


_Ain't Quite the Same Sky  
Chapter One  
_  


So, here he was. Jack Kelly was in Santa Fe. It had taken him twenty-one long years to get there, but all that mattered now was that he was _here_. He looked up at the city's blue sky, free of blemishing spots of white, and thought of Sarah Jacobs.  
  
He had come alone, much to her dismay, to earn money for them to live on before they got married. A nest egg, he had called it. Jack had stayed a newsie until he was nineteen, and for the two years after that, he had helped Kloppman run the Lodging House. But now that he was here, he didn't know what he was going to do with his life. Jack Kelly, one of Manhattan's most famous newsies, was now reduced to being a nobody standing in the Santa Fe Railroad Depot with his entire life packed away in a suitcase.  
  
"Hey, mister!" called a boy standing near the platform where Jack had been lingering.  
  
Jack blinked at the boy, the first person to address him since he had arrived. "Yeah, kid?"  
  
"Want to buy a paper?" He held one up for Jack to see.  
  
Jack smirked. A Santa Fe newsie. This was something to write home and tell the boys about.  
  
"What's da headline?" he asked the boy.  
  
"Buy one and find out for yourself," came the cryptic, maybe even slightly arrogant, reply.   
  
"Dat ain't woith a penny." He was tempted to add his credentials to show that he knew what he was talking about, but the newsie was too impatient and cut off any intention he may have had.  
  
"Then I guess you'll just be doing without," the boy told him as he stepped off the platform and into the crowd, just as strangely as he'd come. "Papers, newspapers!" Jack could hear him briefly before his voice was drowned out by the growing distance and the crowd.  
  
Now that he thought about it, a newspaper might have been a good idea. But it was too late for that, and he had places he needed to be. Jack Kelly picked up his suitcase and, after pushing his way through the mass of people, left the station.  
  


_--------------------------------------------------_  


  
Jack now stood in front of a three story, brown brick building, free of ivy and any other kind of overgrowth. Three large concrete steps lead up to a wooden doorway with a carefully painted sign fixed above it: Bennett Boarding House. This was the place Kloppman had told him to go to; he had been friends with its former owner and told him it was a good place to make a temporary home if he was just starting out. Yet the building looked uninhabited, except for a teenage boy sitting on the top step with a cap over his face. When Jack put his foot on the first step, the sound of his shoe hitting the concrete caused the boy to sit up with a start, his hat falling to his feet.  
  
"Hey there," he said. He looked about fourteen, younger than the boy Jack had met before at the station, with a shock of red hair on his head and a splash of freckles across his nose. He stood and revealed what he had been sitting on -- a stack of newspapers. Another newsie. "Want to buy one?" he asked, gesturing to the papers. "Only a penny."  
  
"Headline?" he inquired, not sure whether or not he was grinning of gaping. This was starting to get a little strange.  
  
"Cowboy gives birth to new herd. Page four."  
  
Jack blinked and chuckled. Racetrack alone would have a field day with that headline and its double meanings.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
"Nothin', kid, nothin'."  
  
"Are you gonna buy one or not?"  
  
"Yeah, I'll buy one." He reached into his pocket just as the door opened. A tall, young, and serious-looking woman emerged, dark eyes staring heatedly at the redheaded newsboy.   
  
"Topper!" she barked. "What did I tell you about harassing the boarders?"  
  
"He's not a boarder, Miss Cate!" Topper whined, trying to salvage his sale. "He's not!"  
  
"I will be if ya takes me," Jack offered.  
  
"Good enough for me," Miss Cate said, smiling at him briefly before turning her attention back to the boy. "Topper, go!"  
  
The redhead signed and scooped up his papers. "He was gonna buy one, too, Miss Cate!" he grumbled as he jumped from the top step to the street.  
  
"Go sell somewhere else!" she called after him, but then turned to Jack. "I'm sorry about Topper. I tell him every day not to harass the boarders, but it's in one ear, out the other with him."  
  
"It's all right," Jack assured. "I used ta be a newsie too."  
  
"Really?" She smiled politely. "Not here, I'm sure…I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."  
  
"Jack Kelly." He held out a hand. She took it; Jack was surprised the woman's strong grip.  
  
"Catharine Bennett. Everyone calls me Cate. I own the Boarding House. You said you were looking for a room?"  
  
"Yeah. I just came heah from New Yawk, so I'm tryin' ta get on my feet."  
  
"Most of our boarders come right from the train," Catharine smiled. "You're welcome to stay, of course. The first night is free, but after that it's twenty-five cents a night, no bargaining. It was my father's rate, and I stick with it." Her voice was confident and firm when speaking about the boarding house.  
  
"I can afford dat," replied Jack. "Soon as I finds a job, dat is."  
  
"You might want to try the Santa Fe Dispatch offices," Catharine offered. "That's our newspaper. They're always hiring for all kinds of things…I don't think you'd want to be a newsie again, though."  
  
"Are there a lot of 'em around heah?"  
  
"Not as many as in other cities, I've heard. But they manage to sell their papers every day. I buy one from Topper each morning, myself. I guess that's where he gets to thinking I'm soft." She smiled, something Jack noticed she seemed to like to do. "Please, come in," she said, opening the door. "I'll show you do your room."  
  
"Thanks…" he said as he entered.   
  
The sitting room of the house was plain, decorated with simple wooden furniture and a large, circular, darkly colored rug, but it was still nicer than some of the places Jack had been…the Refuge in particular.  
  
"I don't like to be fussy," Catharine told Jack as she mounted the narrow staircase. "Your bedroom will be just the same way -- bed, dresser, rug, lamp. It's my father's way."  
  
"You seem really fond of your father," Jack noted as he followed her upstairs.  
  
"Yes." Two small children rushed down the stairs. Catharine leaned back on the railing so they could pass. "Be careful, you two!" she scolded gently before turning her attention back to Jack. "It was always him and me in the house. I helped him take care of it and the boarders, and he taught me how as we went." She offered no more information than that as she took him to the second to last room on the left side of the hallway and unlocked the door with a key she removed from the pocket of her apron. "You'll be staying here. Your neighbors are the McAllisters and the Connors. Mr. and Mrs. Connor have a newborn, little Alexander, but he doesn't cry much, so he shouldn't be a bother."  
  
The room was just as simple as Catharine had described, but to Jack, it was better than he had ever expected.  
  
"Thanks a lot," he said graciously, setting his suitcase down just inside the doorway.  
  
Catharine smiled and handed him the key. "It's no problem! It's my job to do this, after all." She paused as if she were recollecting something. "If you want to go down to the Dispatch building, you'd better go quickly. The main office closes at six, which isn't too long from now."  
  
"Can you tell me where it is?" Jack asked, tucking the key into his pocket.  
  
"Try Topper. He knows the way there better than I do. Besides," she added with a smile, "he always comes back about twenty minutes after I shoo him off."  
  
"I guess ya do have a soft spot for 'im, den."  
  
"I suppose. Now go! I have cleaning to do."  
  
"You really don't take no time off."  
  
"Someone's got to do it." Catharine gently pushed him towards the stairway.  
  
Jack chuckled and mounted the top step. "I get the hint!"  
  
When he finally opened the front door, he found Catharine was right -- Topper was sitting right there, but this time with no papers. The redheaded boy looked up as Jack stepped out of the boarding house and onto the concrete steps.  
  
"Sell 'em all?" Jack asked him.  
  
"It was a good day for the headline," Topper informed him, no trace of humor on his face despite the headline he had told Jack.  
  
"What kind of headlines d'ya usually get?"  
  
"Usually stuff from the big cities. Some local stuff, too, if it's worth mentioning." He yawned. "Either way, it's a living. Is Miss Cate coming out?"  
  
"She told me she had woik ta do, so I don't think so."  
  
"'Woik'?" asked Topper, imitating Jack's accent with a trace of what Jack observed to be glee.  
  
"I'se from New Yawk."  
  
"I can tell."  
  
"Listen, kid, enough wit da mockin'. Catharine told me youse could take me to da Dispatch buildin'."  
  
"Why would you wanna work there?"  
  
"'Cause papes is the only life I know."  
  
"'Papes'?"  
  
"Newspapahs. Jesus, ain't youse evah hoid an accent befoah?"  
  
"Not one like yours."  
  
"Listen…Toppah, right?" Topper nodded. "Just take me dere, okay?"   
  
"Yeah, yeah, fine." He stood and dusted off his slacks. "This way," he said, taking his same jump from the top stoop and onto the street. Jack took the steps one at a time like an adult and he wondered if he was ever as impatient as this newsie was. At least he said what he needed to clearly, unlike the one he had met at the train station.   
  
As Topper lead him down the main street, Jack noticed that Santa Fe was a small city, or, at the very least, much smaller and less cramped than New York. There were no buildings that aspired to touch the sky, and the streets, wider than the usual fare, were filled with people on foot, on horseback, or in horse-drawn buggies. It was very different from any novel that had been placed into Jack hands during his youth, but one of the things he had learned was true -- the sky was bigger, and so was the sun. In his mind, Sarah reminded him that they were the same in both cities. In a way, she was right, but New York lacked the dimensions of this azure covering, with its undetectable limits and much brighter, harsher sun.  
  
"The Dispatch," Topper announced as he gestured to the five-story building he had stopped in front of. "Happy?"  
  
"Thanks, kid," Jack said, looking up and considering what would be waiting for him inside.  
  
"Now that I'm done with you, maybe Miss Cate will let me come in and stick around for dinner…" he mumbled, and he took off in the direction from which he came before Jack could ask him anything more. He sighed.  
  
"Well…I guess it's now or never," he said to himself. He opened the main door of the Dispatch and walked in. Waiting for him inside was an old, salt-and-pepper-haired woman who sat primly at her desk, her eyes traveling over a newspaper laid out on the surface in front of her.  
  
"May I help you?" she asked, adjusting her glasses as if she couldn't believe he, a young, roughed-up man who had only gotten off the train hours before, was standing in front of her.  
  
"Yeah," Jack told her. "I'se heah for a job."  
  
The woman smiled, and Jack could detect a small degree of smugness in the curl of her lips. "You'll want to see Mr. Grayson, then. I'll tell him someone is here to see him. Your name, dear…?"  
  
"Jack Kelly," he said, silently resenting being called 'dear'.  
  
"All right, Mr. Kelly. I'll be right back." She disappeared up the adjacent stairway. Fifteen minutes later, she returned, looking as if she had been laughing. "Mr. Grayson will see you. Third floor, third office on the right."  
  
"Thank you," he managed to mumble before going up the stairwell. Her stuffy features and mocking smile burned in his back the entire way up. Third floor, third office, she had said. Alvin Grayson's door had a golden plate next to the door with his name engraved on it. He entered without knocking.  
  
Mr. Grayson was a man who looked his name -- bald and graying. He was not quite as old as the building's secretary, though he was plumper. Grayson did not look surprised that Jack had entered without first alerting him that he was at the door. Jack silently wondered if the secretary had told this man about him, that he was the cause of her laughter.  
  
"Mr. Kelly, I assume?" he asked. "Take a seat, please." Jack sat in the wobbly wooden chair set in front of his desk, making his back stiff and setting his hands firmly on his knees. "Mrs. Samson says that you're here looking for a job." Jack nodded. "What's your experience?"  
  
"Well, foist," he began, starting with what he believed to be the most important fact, "I can read an' write. When it comes ta papes, I was a newsie in New Yawk for five years, and for the past two, I'se been helpin' ta manage the Newsboys Lodgin' House with its ownah, Mr. Lemuel Kloppman. Three yeahs ago I led the newsie strike against Joe Pulitzer," Jack told Grayson proudly. "I want a job so I can bring my fiancée heah from New Yawk."  
  
Mr. Grayson's brief pause was only long enough for him to decipher Jack's accent, and certainly not to think over the credentials presented to him. "We don't give positions to former newsboys with no formal education," he informed Jack.  
  
"I'se too old ta sell papes, Mr. Grayson. I ain't gonna starve heah just because you don't think I'se good enough to woik at yer office."  
  
"Then go somewhere else," he said simply and sharply.  
  
"Mr. Grayson!" A man in his thirties charged into the office. Grayson was suddenly considering getting a complicated lock for his door. "They've done it again."  
  
"'They'?" Grayson asked. The man nodded. "Those little terrors…" he growled. "There's no chance of him…?" The man shook his head. "I see. Thank you." The man left as quickly as he had come. "Sometimes I think I should just get rid of them all…" he mumbled, more to himself than the younger man in the room with him. "…It might just save me money, who knows."  
  
"Mind if I ask what's goin' on?" inquired Jack.  
  
"Those damned newsboys ran out another employee again." Grayson frowned. "Third one this month. If I could find someone to handle them…" He suddenly began to study Jack more intently. "You said you were a newsie, correct, Mr. Kelly?" Jack nodded. "Then I think we may have a job for you after all."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Will you take it?"  
  
"'Course," Jack agreed immediately. He needed this job, no matter what it was. "I'se'll start tomorrah, even."  
  
"Then you'll be our new morning distributor…every morning you'll be the one to sell the papers to the newsies. Good luck."  
  
Jack paused as this sunk in. If this job was what Mr. Grayson said it was, then…  
  
Jack Kelly was now the Weasel of Santa Fe. He could barely believe it.  
  



	2. Debut

_Author's Notes_: 'líder audaz', according to BabelFish, means 'fearless leader'. I don't take Spanish (go French, woo!), so if this is wrong and someone wants to correct me…by all means, go ahead. _  
_

  
Chapter Two  


  
Jack awoke the next morning to the sound of Catharine rapping gently on his door.  
  
"Wake up, Mr. Kelly," he heard her say softly through the keyhole.  
  
"Five more minutes," he grumbled into his pillow.  
  
"If you're not up soon, you'll be late for your first job."  
  
The job…his premiere as the Weasel of Santa Fe was waiting for him. He had almost forgotten. With a disgusted groan, he swung his legs down from the bed, letting his feet hit the cool, bare wooden floor. Next door, Alexander Connor was whimpering, waiting for just the right moment to blast a full-blown wail unless his mother attended to him immediately. If he hadn't gotten up then, Jack decided, he would have been driven out of bed soon enough by the baby's cries. The Connors were a nice couple, but Catharine had understated the volume Alex produced. He was at a full-scale howl as Jack began to button his shirt; by the time he had tied his shoes, though, Joanie Connor had calmed him. Jack locked his door, dropping the key in his pants pocket, and headed down to the boarding house bathroom to shave the stubble off of his face. He shaved in silence alongside Mr. McAllister, a man in his forties with a wife of the same age and a daughter in her late teens. Cara McAllister was a pretty girl and obviously smitten immediately with the handsome new stranger next door, but the only one Jack had on his mind was Sarah. He would write her a letter when he returned home, he resolved as he washed off his razor. He would write to the boys at the Lodging House too, to tell them how much he missed their chatter-filled mornings.  
  
As he descended the staircase, Jack's nose was immediately filled with the aroma of food. He followed Mr. McAllister into the kitchen and found Catharine serving breakfast -- buttermilk pancakes and toasted bread -- to the men and women who had gotten up early for work. She looked up at him and smiled.  
  
"Take a seat, Mr. Kelly," she instructed. "I make sure all my tenants are well-fed before they all go off to work."  
  
All he could stutter out was a quiet "Thanks" as he sat down and Catharine filled up his plate. He hardly believed any of this. Catharine cooked, cleaned, did everything she could for the boarders -- and she did it all on her own. Not only that, she knew each one of her tenants' names and retained everything they told her. As he ate, he watched her converse animatedly with Mr. Lanley, one of the tenants who lived on the third floor, and then go to the sink to begin the dishes.  
  
"Miss Cate," he said as he stood up and handed her his plate. "Dis is me payment for tonight, two bits, just like you says." He took the quarter from his pocket and placed it on the counter.  
  
"'Two bits'?" Catharine asked, blinking at the strange word.  
  
"A quartah," he corrected. "Sorry, New Yawk slang."  
  
"It's no problem, Mr. Kelly."   
  
"Just Jack, please. I ain't used ta people bein' all propah with me."  
  
She smiled. "All right, Jack."  
  
"I'se gotta be goin'…foist day on the job and all."  
  
"Oh! Of course…good luck!"   
  
"Thanks, Miss Cate," he said, putting on his treasured cowboy hat and exiting the boarding house to the street. He took the front steps two at a time.  
  
It was barely dawn in Santa Fe. The dark night sky had faded to a dull color that reminded him of black and blue coated in fog, waiting to be overcome by the glow of the sun. It was almost desolate. Still, though, he could spot people on the street, heading to their destinations for the day. He was immediately comforted to know that it wasn't just New York that began to bustle early.  
  
Little did Jack know what was waiting for him at the Dispatch as an assorted group of boys began to rise at the paper's Lodging House, but he'd find out soon enough.  
  
The Dispatch's distribution "stand" was an extension of the printing offices, not as much effort put into its building but still stuffed full of copies of the daily edition. As Jack made his way through the back door (Mr. Grayson had given him instructions the day before), two young men greeted him, one older than him, the other around the same age as Jack. Both had the same style of chestnut hair, slicked back with water, and the same strange grin on their faces, though the older's seemed slightly more sinister.  
  
Oh God, thought Jack. The Delancey brothers all over again. But maybe he could get along better with this pair. He could only hope.  
  
"Mornin', fellas," he said to them amiably, hanging his hat on a nail in the wall that Jack guessed was supposed to be a substitute hat-rack. "I'se Jack Kelly."  
  
"Chuck Cartwright," said the older of the two, his voice thick and gruff. He gestured to the other young man. "This is my cousin, Eli."  
  
"Think you're a cowboy, city boy?" asked Eli with genuine humor. He was obviously more good-natured than his cousin.  
  
"I would be if my fiancée weren't so worried that I'se'd get hoit," Jack told him, shrugging. "Youse two been woikin' heah for a while?"  
  
"Long enough to see the other distributors get run out," said Chuck as he untied the twine on a heap of papers. "And smart enough just to count newspapers, not take orders from those kids."  
  
"I used ta be a newsie," Jack informed him. "Dey ain't dat bad."  
  
"No?" questioned Chuck, slightly sarcastic as voices began to grow nearby. "You've never met these boys."  
  
"Can't be woise than I was."   
  
"You'll see. Check out the Courtyard."  
  
Chuck pointed to the low gate that gave access to the building's front lot (Chuck's "Courtyard"), where a group of six or so boys were headed. The first boy to enter cleared the gate in a reckless yet stable leap, landing feet first on the ground. He did a mock bow as the other boys cheered for him. Jack guessed him to be the leader. Two of the younger boys tried to clear the gate like the first had, but couldn't cut it. The others laughed as they hit the ground with a thud (they had chosen the smarter way of entering - opening the creaky gate and stepping through), but the first boy helped one up before reassuming his place at the head of the group, quickly approaching the window. Jack leaned on the counter to watch them. This one didn't have any bars behind it like the one at the World had, so he was getting a good view of all of them. Their assumed leader, the boy who had jumped the fence, was approaching fast, the boys he had come with close behind with a few others that had come on their own. The grand total, Jack could figure from stepping back and doing a quick count in his head, was a little over a dozen. The leader, his age looking to be around eighteen, gave Jack a skeptic look and leaned on the counter, facing the other boys.  
  
"Lookit what we've got here, boys!" he hollered to them. "A new friend!" The other boys laughed and joked with each other. For a moment, Jack felt vaguely nostalgic.  
  
"If you ask me, he's more like a yahoo," commented the sixteen year old behind the leader, with chocolate-colored hair that hid his eyes -- the same boy that Jack had met in the train station.  
  
"Think so?" the first boy asked, casually brushing a few strands of dark hair out of his green eyes.  
  
"I may, I may not," he replied in the same cryptic manner Jack remembered from before. "But he wouldn't buy a paper from me yesterday."  
  
"I should know that you'll never give a straight answer to yes-or-no questions, Riddle…" The boy turned and faced Jack. "Too good to buy from the newsies?" he asked, cocking a brow.  
  
"Nah," Jack answered. "Just ask yer buddy about how 'e don't have a headline to sell one on."  
  
"It's a selling tactic, yahoo," mumbled Riddle. "Ask Keystone."  
  
The leader's eyes glinted. "Yeah," he baited, "ask me…newcomer."   
  
Jack couldn't help but laugh. "Ya think I'se a newbie ta papes?"  
  
"You're a Yankee, and here, that means you're new to everything."  
  
"He's a Yahoo," corrected Riddle. Keystone laughed.  
  
"Yahoo, then. With a bad accent."  
  
"Don't be so hard on him…" came a voice from the back end of the group. Jack recognized it to be Topper's. "He's not that bad…"  
  
"Come on up here, Topper," Keystone commanded. Pushing his way through the boys, the redhead did. "How d'ya know that?"  
  
"He's staying at Miss Cate's place," Topper told him. "I met him there yesterday."  
  
"That so? They sharing the same room, maybe?" The boys behind him laughed and jeered.   
  
"Go ahead and think dat, kid," Jack said with a roll of his eyes, his composed demeanor dismissing the accusation easily.  
  
"Key," he corrected. "Stupid yahoo."  
  
"Jack Kelly," he returned, taking his turn to set the names straight. "From New Yawk."  
  
"'New Yawk, New Yawk,'" mocked a shorter boy who popped up behind Riddle. Some of the other boys began to chatter in fake, exaggerated New York accents with him.  
  
"Down, Hound," commanded Keystone sharply. "All of you! It's my job to handle the city boy."  
  
Chuck slammed a newspaper down on the counter next to Jack, who looked up at him, surprised.   
  
"Get your papers now or you're not getting them at all," he growled.  
  
"Think you're a big man, don't you, Chucky?" asked Keystone sardonically. "I'll get my papers when I'm good and ready." He picked up the one Chuck had slammed on the counter and opened it to the inside cover. "So, Yahoo," he said casually, his eyes darting up and down the page. "You know the newsboys in…'New Yawk'?"  
  
Jack snatched the paper out of his hand. "Mock me again," he told Keystone irately, "an' youse'll be bedridden so long you'll forget how ta read the papes, let alone sell 'em." The boys behind Keystone began to whisper to each other nervously.  
  
"Down, boys," he repeated, and to three in particular, "that means you, too, Outlaw, Trusty, Smalls. I'm handling it. Let me try again, _Kelly_. You know the newsboys in New _York_?"  
  
"I _was _one."  
  
Keystone arched an eyebrow. "Yeah? How long?"  
  
"Five yeahs."  
  
"Then you were around when they striked."  
  
"Around?" Jack couldn't help but laugh. "Not to be conceited or anythin', but I was the leadah."  
  
Behind Keystone, the boys murmured their approval.  
  
"Not bad," Keystone was forced to admit.  
  
"For a yahoo," added Riddle.  
  
"Tell yer boys I ain't takin' no bull from no newsboy," Jack warned Keystone. "An' if I get any, 'e's gonna eat 'is papes fer breakfast."  
  
Keystone turned to face his second-in-command. "Down, boy," he warned. "You heard him." He pulled out a few coins and plunked them down on the counter. "Tell Chucky that I want sixty papers."  
  
"Not a real high rollah?" asked Jack.  
  
"Santa Fe's a smaller city than New York, Kelly. We don't move thousands a week like you guys can."  
  
"I sees where ya comes from. Chuck," he said over his shoulder, "sixty fer Keystone."  
  
"And count them right!" Keystone added. The boys behind him laughed. Chuck slammed the papers on the counter angrily.  
  
Riddle was the next to get his papers. "Whatever looks fine for today," he told Jack mysteriously.  
  
"That's fifty for Riddle," Eli said into Jack's ear.   
  
"How'd'ya know dat?" he asked as Chuck set the stack on the counter.   
  
Eli smiled. "You learn."  
  
"Morning!" Hound, a fourteen year old, greeted Jack. "Thirty papers, please," he said, plunking a dime and a nickel on the counter and taking his papers as soon as Chuck set them down.  
  
"You're already better than the last one," commented a tall sixteen-year old with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. "He couldn't even last five minutes with Key…I'm Outlaw, by the way. Forty papers for me."  
  
The next boy to approach the counter was a much shorter boy whose age Jack couldn't tell. "Seventeen," he told Jack quietly.   
  
"His age, not his papers," added Outlaw. "Smalls is small for his age."  
  
"Don't rub it in, Outlaw," he mumbled. "Twenty."  
  
"That's not much better!" Keystone laughed from a few feet away.  
  
"Sometimes I think you should just screw off, Keystone..."  
  
"Aw, stop your gassing!" exclaimed a high-pitched voice. Jack peered over Smalls (not a hard thing to do, of course) and saw a young girl was approaching, with yellow-blonde hair and a sway in her hips much too big for someone her age.  
  
"Out, little girl," commanded Keystone with immediate vexation, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Why can't I be a newsie today?" she demanded, kicking up dust at the boys with her foot. "I bet I'm just as good as you, Key!"  
  
"Home," he repeated firmly, pointing to the gate.  
  
"I've got to put food on the table too, and this is the only way I know how!"  
  
"Then start looking for another way," jeered a boy with coffee-colored hair from the back.   
  
"Shut up, Spinner!" she squeaked.   
  
"Goldy," said Keystone firmly.  
  
"Yeah, Key?" She tried to sneer.  
  
"Go home," he said calmly.   
  
The girl frowned. "This isn't the last of it," she told the group of boys.  
  
"It never is!" laughed Spinner as she stomped away, back through the gate from which she came.  
  
"That's Goldilocks," Topper, who had made his way back to the front, told Jack. "She's ten."  
  
"Why ain't dey lettin' 'er be a newsie?"   
  
"Because she's a girl!" snapped Keystone crossly.  
  
"We had goil newsies in Manhattan," he informed them. "Not a lot, a'course. Some of dem fooled their way in…" He paused to remember few in particular that had come since the strike ended, "…but dey was still goils, and still sold papes bettah dan some of the boys we had."  
  
"Goldy's not a New York girl. She's still a little girl. Too young to sell papers."  
  
"Too young to become tarnished gold," commented Riddle in his usual mysterious manner.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"She said she's got people ta take care of," Jack noted.  
  
"She's got people taking care of them already. She doesn't have to worry about it. Just do your papers, Kelly, and don't worry about it either."  
  
"He's sure defensive," mumbled Jack to Eli as Topper requested thirty papers and stepped aside for the next few boys to approach.  
  
"He gets that way every time Goldy comes around…"  
  
"She's a cute kid, could prolly move a lot o' papes."  
  
"Yeah…but Key's firm when he tells her no girls. And look," Eli added, gesturing to the now-empty line and the thinning yard as the boys went towards the streets to sell their papers, "you survived your first day."  
  
"Not quite," Chuck said, pointing at the gate. "You forgot the twins, Eli." Two identical boys were dashing at full speed through the Courtyard and up the ramp. "Late again." When they approached the counter, Jack could see that they were both boys of thirteen with short, dark hair and dark brown eyes.   
  
"New guy?" asked the one on the left.  
  
"Jack Kelly," he introduced.  
  
"I'm Tex." He pointed to the boy next to him. "This is Mex."  
  
"Twins, if you couldn't tell," said Mex. "Brothers."  
  
Jack laughed. "Yeah, I can tell. How many?"  
  
"Thirty," said Tex.  
  
"And thirty," said Mex.  
  
"Sixty, then," said Jack.  
  
"If you want to do it the easy way," they chorused.  
  
"But we like to try to give it a little variety," continued Tex.  
  
"And confuse Chuck," concluded Mex.  
  
"You boys looking for a fight with the new guy?" asked a fourteen year old with gray eyes and light brown hair who sat nearby, re-counting his papers.  
  
"We heard líder audaz saying on the way out that this one wasn't bad, Trusty," said Mex as he picked up his papers.  
  
"As long as he doesn't short you, right?" laughed Tex, who had taken his as well.  
  
Trusty laughed. "You forget that Chuck does the counting!" he yelled as he headed towards the exit.  
  
"Then we can't ever be sure!" Tex had stacked his thirty papers on his head, wobbling around the counter in an attempt to balance, but his laughter made the papers fall to the ground.  
  
"Get out," Chuck growled from behind the counter.  
  
"They're harmless," Eli said as the twins gathered up Tex's papers and dashed back out the gate and into the streets.  
  
"_Now _we're done," said Jack as soon as they were gone. "Right?"  
  
Chuck laughed. "Never. We've got to wait around till they come back this afternoon for the sellbacks."  
  
"Sellbacks?"  
  
"If they don't sell all their papers, they take them back and we buy them back at cost. Keeps the kids from going bust…unfortunately."  
  
"Dey ain't bad kids, Chuck. Don't know how so many distributahs got run out…all dey need is some patience."  
  
"You used to be a newsie, of course you're going to say that. Sit down, kid, we've got a while."  
  
Jack took a seat in a chair near Eli and Chuck and took out a pad of paper; the other two settled in with a pair of newspapers. He would write his letter to Sarah first, he decided, and then he'd write to the boys. As the sun settled itself into the morning sky, Jack realized that his first day was going to be longer than he thought. He hoped he had enough to tell them all to make the time go faster.  



	3. Letters

_  
_

Chapter 3  


  
As Jack approached the Santa Fe Post Office late that afternoon, he pulled the letter he had written to Sarah from his pocket to look back over it. His own slanted print read,  
  
_Dear Sarah,  
  
I'm thinking about ya every day, whenever I look up at the sky. The sunrises in Santa Fe are so beautiful, I can't even describe 'em. When you come, you'll see for yourself. There's so many colors, and they're all so bright, and when the sky has clouds, they're big like mountains. It's nothing like you've seen in New York, trust me.  
  
I have a job working for the Santa Fe pape, the Dispatch. I give out the papes to the newsies (yeah, like Weasel used to, don't laugh) with two guys, Chuck and Eli Cartwright, who are cousins (Chuck is almost as bad as both the Delanceys put together, too, just trust me on that). Today was my first day. (go and show Dave this letter, too, so he can tell the boys about them) The leader of these boys, his name's Keystone. He's like Spot was back in the day, but almost worse when it comes to the attitude. He's got a real good command over the boys, though, and knows my deal and not to disrespect me. I told him about how we were in the strike, and that seemed to get him to appreciate me, which, from what everyone's told me, the other distributors before me couldn't do. The other boys are a mixed bag, including a kid who only speaks in riddles (named Riddle, imagine that) and a guy who's seventeen but as short as a little kid (Smalls). It's real strange. They also do sellbacks here, on account of the slower news days. It gives the kids and even break, too, which is good for them. These boys make me miss the Lodging House, but I guess I'm finding a way to deal.  
  
I live in a boarding house (it's the one Kloppman gave me the name of before I left) with a lot of other people (I'll put the address at the bottom of the page so you guys can write me back), including a noisy baby next door. I'm warning ya now, Sarah, if all kids are as loud as that one, we're not having any. The woman who runs the boarding house, though, Miss Cate, puts it all together best she can, though, and she's doing a real good job. You'll like her when you meet her. She's only two years older than me.  
  
I don't know how long it'll be before you can come, but I'm hoping it's not long. If my job keeps up well, it won't be more than a little while. I'll write again soon, and send me a letter the next time you can.  
  
Love,  
Jack  
(Room 19, Bennett Boarding House, 25 Trail Avenue, Santa Fe)_  
  
After dropping the letter off with the post office clerk, Jack returned to the Boarding House. Topper was sitting on the doorstep again, but this time he was with Pulley, a fourteen year-old with short, near-black hair like Keystone's and equally dark eyes.  
  
"You two moochin' dinnah off Miss Cate?" Jack asked pleasantly as he turned the doorknob.  
  
"Why're you so happy?" replied Pulley with skepticism.  
  
"No reason," Jack said, but in his mind, there was an image of Sarah.  
  
"He's thinking about Miss Cate," grinned Topper.  
  
"You listen ta Keystone too much."  
  
"I'm supposed to listen to the leader, aren't I?"  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. "Not when 'e's wrong, which 'e is in dis case." He opened the door and gestured for the two to enter. "C'mon."  
  
"Key'll only be wrong when he lets Goldy sell papers," said Pulley, putting an angelic look on his face as he went inside. "Miss Ca~te!" he called.  
  
"Pulley, is that you? And Topper too, I'm guessing…" commented Catharine, briefly peeking her head out of the kitchen to see the boys. "Jack!" she exclaimed, brushing the loose strands of dark hair that had fallen out of her braid from her face. "I didn't hear you come in."  
  
"I ain't as vocal as dese two, Miss Cate."  
  
Catharine smiled. "You can just call me Cate, Jack. I'll feed you whether or not you add the 'Miss'."  
  
"Oooo~ooooh," chorused Topper and Pulley. Catharine disappeared back into the kitchen to hide a faint tinge of red spreading across her cheeks.  
  
"If you two want papes tomorroah, youse'll stop teasin'," Jack said in Topper's ear.  
  
"You wouldn't!" he exclaimed.  
  
"I might," he laughed. "Dey should call ya Gully."  
  
"Gully?"   
  
"Short fer Gullible."  
  
"Yahoo!" Topper shot back in return.  
  
"Yeah!" added Pulley.   
  
"You two ain't got a good insult of yer own, do ya?" asked Jack. "Gotta take everythin' from Key and Riddle."  
  
"S-so?" Pulley sputtered weakly.  
  
Jack laughed. If these kids ever spent a day with the boys back home, he thought, they'd end up much different. Or maybe they'd be just the same. He could never know for sure. Reflecting on what he had told Sarah in his letter, the boys in both cities weren't as different as he thought. They each had to make a living from day to day…they even lived under the same sky and sun. They just looked at it differently. As his laughter faded, Catharine's declaration floated into the front hall.  
  
"DINNER~!" She poked her head back out as assorted boarders, old and young, male and female, began making their way down the stairs in what resembled a herd. "That includes all Dispatch employees," she added, smiling at both boys and Jack. The three proceeded into the boarder's dining room.  
  
This was the fist time Jack had seen the dining room; he hadn't eaten with the boarders his first night, and Catharine used the kitchen for breakfast since fewer residents took breakfast at different times. Though Catharine insisted on her father's simple policy, the long oak table and chairs were overshadowed by the bright, patterned wallpaper and three vases of fresh flowers, each positioned at a different place on the table. Women took their seats first (children ate in the sitting room, where there was less decoration and more room to run after the meal); whatever men did not end up with seats stood with Catharine and everyone participated in lively, friendly conversation. Jack could see why Topper came to dinner each night and often brought a friend; everything Catharine served, it was excellent, and the conversations made it just as good.  
  
As Jack spooned vegetables onto his plate, his letter to Sarah was making its way out of the Santa Fe Post Office and beginning a long journey of misplacement and delay. It would reach the Jacobs home a month and a half after Jack dropped it off at the post office.  
  


_--------------------------------------------------_  


  
Jack lay in bed, reading a copy of The Santa Fe Dispatch when he heard a gentle knock on his door. It was unusual for him to get visitors, especially at night. Cara McAllister had stopped dropping by unexpectedly nearly a month ago when he had politely informed her that he had a fiancée waiting to come join him here from back home, so he knew it wasn't her, but had no idea who else it could be. His caller didn't identify himself, so Jack didn't bother answering and went back to his paper.  
  
A few moments later, though, another knock came, this time accompanied by a voice.  
  
"Jack? I know it's late, but --"  
  
Jack recognized the voice on the other side as Catharine's. He rose out of bed and answered the door before she could finish her sentence, knowing she rarely visited anyone past the boarding house curfew (nine o'clock) unless something was wrong.  
  
"Youse okay, Cate?" he asked, concerned.  
  
"Oh! Yes, I'm fine, Jack." She smiled.   
  
"Why're you heah, den?"  
  
"It's only nine-thirty."  
  
"Past the curfew, though."  
  
Catharine smiled again. "I guess I'm bad for not following my own rules, then."  
  
"Yeah, I guess," Jack said, smiling as well.  
  
"Miss Clark from the post office stopped by with a special late delivery," she told him, taking her left hand out from behind her back to reveal the letter she was holding. "I would have given it to you in the morning, but the postmark is from New York." Jack reached out and took it from her.  
  
"Thanks, Cate…" He undid the seal and pulled the letter out, scanning it quickly.  
  
"From Sarah?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Yeah…it's dated two weeks ago."  
  
"This is the first letter she's sent you in the two months you've been here," Catharine observed as his eyes darted across the paper.  
  
"She says the one I sent got lost in the mail for a while…"  
  
"Oh. Well, it's good it got through, at least." She gave a small smile. "I should let you go. You'll want to write her back, and I need to make sure everything is in order for the morning."  
  
"Thanks again, Cate," he said to her, still holding the letter tightly in one hand. "Really, I'se grateful dat you brought this ta me."  
  
"You're welcome, Jack. You have that meeting in the morning, right?" He nodded.   
"See you at breakfast, then?"  
  
"Yeah. 'Night, Cate."  
  
"Good night."   
  
Jack watched her go down the hallway to the stairwell and then closed his room's door gently behind him, doing his best not to wake either neighbor on each side of him, especially baby Alex. Standing by the window, he could see Sarah's letter was one full page, front and back, though she didn't have much to say. She missed him and was glad his letter finally came so she wouldn't have to be worried anymore. David was doing fine, and so was Les, but at the moment he had a cold. Her parents missed him and wished him the best of luck. When would she be coming? she asked twice, once at the beginning, and once at the end. She signed it with all her love.   
  
Strangely, though, everything she said was only on the first page. He turned it over to see who the other writing was from. Jack laughed out loud when he read the first few lines -- it was David. He had stolen his sister's letter, he said, and after overcoming the stench of the perfume she had coated it with (Jack sniffed the letter and found no traces of it; it must have worn off since she had sprayed it, he concluded), he had decided to take it to the boys at the Lodging House and have them sign it. He had all of them -- including Kid Blink, Mush, Specs, Skittery, Bumlets, Snoddy, Pie Eater, Dutchy, Racetrack, even Spot and Kloppman -- each saying hello and wishing him luck. Jack would have to thank all of them in his next letter, he resolved, for all the warm wishes. It was just what he needed, after spending so much time with the Santa Fe newsies, a fresh reminder of home.  
  
Jack's mind drifted away from the letter for a moment when he gazed out the window. Though Santa Fe was canopied by a large blue sky and blinding sun in the day, a gentle moon accompanied by thousands of stars lit it up at night. In his mind, he tried to blot out some of the bright spots hanging in the inky covering, attempting to make it more like New York's sky, where the stars were hidden by smoke and city lights. If just for that night, Jack wanted to be a little closer to the people he thought had left behind but had come bounding back in that letter. Sarah…even if she said it was all the same up above, he wanted to see the same things that she and the boys did that night, just to let them all know he was doing the best he could. And in the morning…  
  
In the morning, Jack had a meeting with Mr. Grayson and the other bosses at the Dispatch. He tucked the paper back in its envelope and set it on the table next to his bed, his mind going back to Santa Fe. Keystone and the boys were expecting him to be there tomorrow, and the last thing he could do was be late after staying up till the dead of night, reflecting on things long past.  



	4. Decision

_Author's Notes_: I originally had a lot of continuity problems with this story.. the one that's always bothered me is that Sarah says it's the same sun in Santa Fe, not the same sky. For the most part I've managed to fix it, though, so both are present in the story while still holding continuity. Huzzah ^^;  
  


_Chapter Four_  
  


"Jack…"  
  
Catharine's voice, accompanied by the soft beating of her knuckles on the other side of the door, was one of the few things Jack liked hearing in the morning at Bennett Boarding House, and often the only thing that could compel him to leave his bed. He let out a soft groan that vaguely resembled the words "I'se comin', Cate," as he threw off the blankets covering him. Jack rose from the bed in a deep stretch, eyes still slightly clouded by sleep. He had to be especially early for the meeting at the Dispatch this morning; Mr. Grayson's orders, of course. Few details about the meeting had been disclosed (including the topic, which still remained a mystery), only that it was mandatory for all employees to attend. As soon as he was dressed, Jack found himself splashing water on his face to wash away the fatigue and beginning to shave away his stubble in the empty bathroom. It seemed he was the first (and only) one up today. Secretly, he was thankful that he didn't have to rise this early every day. As much as he loved his job and the Santa Fe newsboys, he loved a good night's sleep even more.  
  
Jack tied his familiar bandana around his neck as he stepped down the stairs, already smelling breakfast and hearing Catharine's good-natured humming. Catharine was such an early riser, it was incredible to him that she could get so little sleep but still be so very chipper.  
  
"If you was a newsie, Cate," he told her as he entered the kitchen, "we'd be callin' youse Early Boid."  
  
"I know newsies rise early too, Jack, and not just me," she smiled from the stove.  
  
"Yeah, but we ain't ready, willin', and cheerful like youse. Dey used ta hafta drag us out kickin' an' screamin'…"  
  
"…if you were awake enough to do either," she finished, rolling her eyes lightheartedly. "You sound like an old man when you talk about your newsie days sometimes, Jack."  
  
Jack laughed. "Do I really?"   
  
"Mm-hmm." Catharine ladled more batter onto the saucepan and paused. "Say, Jack," she began, nervously smoothing a free hand on her apron, "did you read your letter?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"How's Sarah doing?"  
  
"She's real good…the boys sent me a note, too. On da back of all she said."  
  
His mind traveled to the letter sitting on his bedstand, which he had tucked carefully back into its envelope before going to sleep that night. Last night he hadn't even realized the lengths David must have gone to to get those signatures; some of the newsies had left the Lodging House even before he had to go on to bigger and better jobs. Spot, for one, had become the manager for a young, somewhat successful fighter in the Brooklyn rings named Lawrence McCoy, better known to the others as Bumlets. Racetrack had gone on to be a jockey at Sheepshead Races, and, for once, he was winning competitions and giving those who bet on him better profits than the horses he had lost money on as a newsie. Dutchy worked in a bakery with Skittery; in fact, the two had managed to convince their employer to give the shop's day-old roles to the newsies each morning as breakfast, free of charge. As for the others, most of them were still around, though Kid Blink had been given a part in Medda's latest stage show as Bluebeard the Pirate and was considering pursuing a career in theater along with Mush, who had been successful in various supporting roles at Irving Hall. David was still balancing a dual life of student and newsie, still dancing around the issue of college, though Jack knew his father would make him choose his path soon…  
  
"That's wonderful," she said as she flipped the half-cooked pancake with her spatula, interrupting Jack's thoughts. "Are they well?"  
  
"Just great. An'…I'se got a question I'd like to ask, Cate."  
  
"You know you can ask me anything," Catharine smiled, handing Jack a plate stacked with fresh pancakes. He took it gratefully and sat at the table.  
  
"D'ya charge more dependin' on how many people are livin' in each room?"  
  
"I stick to my set fee, you know that, Jack."  
  
"I was just makin' sure, 'cause of Sarah an' all."  
  
Catharine did her best to mask the disappointment in her voice with cheer as she asked, "Is she coming soon?"  
  
"I'm hopin' she can come in the next month or so…Cate, youse gotta trust me when I says you'll love her. She's the sweetest goil, always smilin'."  
  
"You've told me."  
  
Jack had in fact spent many a night telling Catharine about Sarah and everything wonderful about her, so much that all Catharine needed to do was learn her favorite Revolutionary War general and then she'd know everything about the girl her tenant was so crazy about.  
  
"Don't worry, I told her about you, too," added Jack when he heard the slight frustration in her voice. "You two'll get along great. Like sistahs, almost."  
  
"I'm sure we will." Catharine managed to smile. "I hope she can come soon," she added. "The Boarding House is always happier when people are together. It's always what my father said."  
  
Just as Jack had consumed many nights talking about his fiancée, Catharine had spent just as many telling Jack about her father, Mark Bennett. Mark had founded Bennett Boarding House with Catharine's mother just after they married, but Joanna Bennett passed away giving birth to their only child. As a result, Mark ran the house and raised his daughter with material simplicity but enough love and knowledge to make up for any loss. Throughout his life he kept close correspondence with his best friend and mentor, Lemuel Kloppman, who ran a boy's Lodging House in Manhattan and had encouraged Mark to establish a similar endeavor. Jack liked the fact that he, in a way, had ties to the Boarding House because of Kloppman; it made him feel like he indeed had a reason to belong in Santa Fe. He only wished that he had come earlier, right after the strike, so he could have met Mark Bennett, who passed away in early 1900 when Catharine was barely twenty. Since then Catharine ran the building on her own, following her father's path and living the only way she knew how. Jack admired her resolution and independence, though he had never had the chance or courage to tell her. Now, alone together in the kitchen, Jack found he had an opportunity.  
  
"Listen, Cate," he initiated, setting down his silverware on his plate.  
  
"Yes, Jack?"  
  
"I was just thinkin', an', well…" He paused as he gazed at the clock hanging on the section of kitchen wall above the sink and let his resolve fail him. "I'se gonna be late fer woik." He rose from the table.  
  
"Oh!" Catharine seemed surprised and possibly a little disappointed. "…I guess you do, with that meeting and all. And I've got to get ready for when the other tenants get up…have a good day, Jack."  
  
"You too, Cate," he told her as he handed her his plate. Their hands touched briefly. Catharine colored a pale shade of pink but said nothing as Jack exited the kitchen, almost bumping into Amos Kincaid, one of the oldest boarders who usually had the earliest morning job of changing shifts at the sheriff's holding facilities.  
  
"Are you jealous, Catie?" he asked Catharine kindly as he took Jack's seat at the table.  
  
"Good morning to you too, Mr. Kincaid," she said in a singsong voice as she placed his breakfast in front of him. "You're a little late to breakfast this morning."  
  
"Take a seat and answer my question, Catie."  
  
"You know you're the only one I let call me that," Catharine told him as she sank into the seat next to his. "And if you were anyone else, we wouldn't be having this conversation."  
  
"It's because I've known you since before you were born," observed Amos with a wink. "Are you jealous of the handsome boy and his pretty little fiancée?"  
  
"I'm not jealous of the arrangement they have," she said firmly. "You know how I feel about marriage."  
  
"But you _are _jealous of the girl, Catie, and what she means to him."  
  
She paused and let out a sigh. "…you really do know me too well."  
  
"There aren't many boarders that come around that are like him," Amos said gently.  
  
Catharine smirked at his comment. "Are you saying that I like _any _young man who comes to stay here?"  
  
"Of course not!" he laughed. "This one's different, though, isn't he?"  
  
"Yes," she confirmed, "he is."  
  
"And you wish he saw you as more than his friend and landlord?"  
  
Catharine reddened in embarrassment. "How much of our conversation did you hear, Mr. Kincaid!?"  
  
The old man smiled. "Just the things not said."  
  
"What did I say?" Catharine had often heard Amos say that he had abnormally good hearing skills, but she never imagined he meant it like this.  
  
"I heard you say you've got more than just a soft spot for him and wish he wasn't bringing that fiancée of his over from the city."  
  
So, it seemed Amos really could hear beyond more than just words. "And what did Jack say…?"  
  
"That he's crazy about his fiancée…you knew that, though. But he also admires you and the work you do."  
  
Catharine smiled. "Does he?"  
  
"I think everyone here does, Catie."  
  
"You're sweet-talking me, Mr. Kincaid…"  
  
"I only repeat what I hear."  
  
"Or what you don't hear," Catharine added, trying not to laugh.  
  
Amos smiled. "Right, Catie. Or what I don't hear."  
  


--------------------------------------------------  


  
Meanwhile, Jack had made his way through downtown Santa Fe and to the Dispatch, just as the other employees had, including a man entering behind Jack whom he recognized to be a reporter. In the lobby of the building, he tipped his cowboy hat to Mrs. Samson, who grudgingly pointed him and the reporter towards the conference room where the meeting was being held.  
  
"Distributor?" asked the reporter, giving him a look-over. Jack nodded. "Thought so." When he noticed the glare Jack was giving him for his lofty tone of voice, he quickly supplemented, "I just haven't seen you around the building, that's all, so I guessed you worked outside the offices."  
  
"Yeah, I'se da one associatin' with da newsies," said Jack. "Dat's whatcha really meant, isn't it?"  
  
"You must be doing something right if they haven't run you out yet. Mr. Grayson's told me on more than once occasion that they're real terrors."  
  
"Dey ain't bad if ya know where dey're comin' from."  
  
"Is that so?" asked the reporter. Jack nodded. "Curious. I'd ask you more, but it looks like we've made it to the board room."  
  
Jack watched him as he turned the doorknob. "Yeah…looks like we 'ave."   
  
The "board room" at the Dispatch wasn't anything out of the ordinary; it was a room simply larger than the rest with plain white walls, one large, four-paned window, and a long table with about one and a half dozen chairs. Mr. Grayson's seat, of course, was at the head of the table, and on each side were his two most important assistant editors, Mr. Pope and Mr. Hanna, both men in their late forties. Jack sat closer to the opposite end, next to Eli Cartwright, who was wedged between him and his cousin Chuck. Around them were assorted writers, reporters, photographers, printers, and typists -- all people Jack did not recognize. He shifted almost uncomfortably in his seat as Mr. Grayson stood to take command.  
  
"Thank you gentlemen, for attending," he began, "especially those of you who don't usually rise this early." His eyes traveled to the faces of a few men Jack guessed to be photographers before continuing. "We are here today to discuss a problem -- profits. They're down, and costs are up. Our sales aren't as good as they used to be, and as of late, we have been looking for a solution.  
  
"At first, we considered salary cuts and layoffs." Grumbles and groans escaped the employees. Jack froze in fear, thinking of what he would do with a smaller salary or possibly no job at all. He wouldn't have the funds to bring Sarah to Santa Fe, let alone sustain himself and his home at Bennett Boarding House. He wouldn't even be able to afford a train ticket back to New York City; he'd be stuck on the streets. "But," Mr. Grayson quickly assured the fretful employees, "we promptly dismissed that proposal. Instead, we have come to a much more practical, economic solution, presented in two parts. First, to cope with diminished circulation, we will first cut back on the number of papers printed each day." Most of the men looked at each other and nodded in agreement, except the printers, but Mr. Grayson guaranteed them that salary cuts would only be minimal.  
  
"What's the second, Mr. Grayson?" inquired a different reporter than the one Jack had walked in with, sitting across the table from Jack and four seats down from Mr. Hanna.  
  
"The second concerns newsboy employment."   
  
Eli nudged Jack anxiously. This meant it would affect their jobs, maybe even severely, depending on what Mr. Grayson said.  
  
"What about it?" asked Chuck.  
  
"As most of you know," Mr. Grayson told the collective of employees, "the newsboys in our employment aren't many, but they're troublesome. Nearly two months ago they were running out handfuls of distributors every week, something remedied by Mr. Kelly's employment, and we're very thankful towards him for keeping the boys under control." Jack let out a polite smile as Mr. Grayson gestured towards him and the other men peered to see him; inside he was still hit with worry for the newsboys and his own job. "As they are the voices that get the people of Santa Fe to buy our newspaper, we feel they are heavily at fault for our poor sales. At first, we considered eliminating newsboy employment altogether." Eli and Jack exchanged uneasy looks. "But," Mr. Grayson continued, "we realized that would be foolish. Instead, we are simply going to eliminate what has been costing us the most in profits -- sellbacks of unsold newspapers."  
  
This couldn't be true, Jack thought. It couldn't work that way. Jack's mouth acted faster than his ability to arrange his thoughts and immediately told Mr. Grayson, "Ya can't do dat."  
  
Mr. Grayson arched an eyebrow, almost as if he was surprised to see the boy from New York voice his opinion, the one who had practically gotten down on his knees and begged for his job. "Why is that?" he asked curiously.  
  
"'Cause it ain't fair ta dem."  
  
"Is that all you can argue?" asked Mr. Hanna.   
  
"Mistah Grayson, sirs," Jack continued, quite obvious to him that these men didn't understand simple reason, "I know dese kids. I'se woiked with 'em for two months now. Dey're kids that gotta survive, with families ta support." Jack scanned his mind for an example. "Like two of 'em, twins, named Tex an' Mex. Their faddah left 'em, and dey support their mudder 'cause she can't woik. She don't even speak more than a couple woids of English. A lot of 'em are orphans shipped heah from the East, and dis is the only way dey can make ends meet."  
  
"Those issues aren't our concern, Mr. Kelly," Mr. Pope spoke up. "We have profits to think of, and these sellbacks are costing us money."  
  
"You're ruinin' lives fer pennies!"  
  
"Pennies add up to dollars."  
  
"Yer just like Joe," he accused. "All of youse."  
  
"We can't help our decisions, Mr. Kelly. They're for the good of the newspaper," assessed Mr. Grayson yet again.  
  
"I'll tell the newsies about it dis mornin', then," Jack challenged, "befoah dey buy their papes."  
  
"You'll do no such thing. Mr. Cartwright will make sure of it."  
  
"Which one of us?" asked Eli.  
  
"Chuck," he replied, knowing Eli was sympathetic to Jack and the newsies.  
  
"Be glad to." Chuck leered triumphantly at Jack. He had always hated these newsboys, especially abusive Keystone, and this was just the way to get revenge on them. They would never call him "Chucky" again after they learned this lesson the hardest way.  
  
"Mistah Grayson…" Jack pleaded.  
  
"The meeting is over," Grayson informed the communal sitting at the table, and added a special warning for Jack: "Watch your step in this matter, Mr. Kelly, we are watching you."  
  


_--------------------------------------------------_  


  
"I can't believe dis," Jack groaned, holding his forehead in his hands as his elbows rested on the countertop. The Santa Fe newsies were making their way through the gate, Keystone in the lead like always, and Jack could do nothing to save them from any mistake they might make on this day.  
  
"Believe it, Jack," said Eli with a sigh as he untied a stack of newspapers.  
  
"I don't understand why you two are upset!" exclaimed Chuck with abnormal glee in his voice. "These kids are finally getting what they deserve!"  
  
"Dey don't deserve nothin' like dat!" Jack snapped at him, lifting his head.  
  
"Who don't deserve nothing?" asked Trusty.  
  
The three men paused. They hadn't even seen the boys approach the main counter.  
  
"Nothing deserves nothing." Riddle's voice floated to the front, still holding its deliberately mysterious tone.  
  
"Morning, Cowboy!" Jack could hear Outlaw's voice from the middle of the group. He had allowed the boys to call him by his newsie nickname two weeks after he had began his job, when they dragged it out of him during a story he was telling, about one of the first times he had soaked the Delancey brothers.  
  
"So, Kelly," said Keystone in his usual casual manner, leaning over onto the counter, "whatcha have for us today?"  
  
Chuck slammed a newspaper onto the counter in front of Keystone. It already seemed like a usual day at the Dispatch…almost.  
  
"Thanks, Chucky," he grinned as he looked over the paper. "Hn…pretty good headline today…"  
  
"What's it say, Key?" asked Hound.  
  
"'Chicago Corpse Found to be Mayor's Mistress'," Keystone told him.  
  
"Thank God for continental news, huh?" grinned Outlaw, who had fought his way up to the front. Behind him, other boys declared their agreement in scattered voices.  
  
"I'll take a hundred ten today," said Keystone, plunking the coins on the counter.  
  
"That's more than usual, Key," replied Jack, his heart pounding in his ears. "Maybe you should just stay with your usual number…" If he'd had a conscience, would Weasel have felt this way when he followed Pulitzer's orders back in 1899?   
  
From behind, Chuck 'accidentally' elbowed him in the side.  
  
"Watch yourself, Jack, or else Mr. Grayson will hear about this," he hissed into Jack's ear.  
  
"You okay, Kelly?" asked Keystone, noticing the peculiar look he had on his face.  
  
"F-fine," Jack managed to mutter.  
  
"A hundred and ten papers," said Chuck with a grin, letting the stack hit the counter with a thud. "Have a good day, Keystone."  
  
"Hope it didn't hurt counting that high, Chucky," Keystone commented as he took his papers under one arm. The boys laughed as Chuck glowered.  
  
"The wind has been telling me things," said Riddle as he approached the counter, his hair hiding any kind of emotion that might have been in his eyes. He idly dropped two quarters onto the wood.  
  
"You guys are really goin' a lit'l ovahboard wit yer buyin' today, aintcha?" asked Jack as Riddle took his papers away.  
  
"Nah," dismissed Topper as he gave thirty cents to Jack. "I mean, if sales are bad, it's not like we can't just go and sell them back later."  
  
Chuck had to turn around to keep the newsboys from seeing him snicker. From the cry of pain he let out, though, Jack realized that Eli had taken an opportunity to kick him.  
  
"What's that all about?" asked Outlaw while gathering up his papers.  
  
"Just Chuck bein' an idiot," Jack told him. "Nothin' unusual."  
  
"That's true," Outlaw laughed, stepping aside for Tex and Mex.   
  
"We're early today," declared Mex.  
  
"Aren't you proud of us?" continued Tex.  
  
Jack couldn't help but grin at the twins and their constant energy. "Real proud, boys."  
  
"You guys have a good headline today," Chuck encouraged. "You'll probably sell a lot of papers." Jack whipped his head around and glared at Chuck, who merely shrugged.  
  
"Really, Chuck?" asked Tex. "Since when should we believe you?"  
  
"Since Keystone bought over a hundred."  
  
"Then count us seventy without taking off your shoes," requested Mex, holding up the coins.  
  
Chuck said nothing, only counted out the papers and grinned. Tex and Mex each grabbed half of their load and waved to the three men behind the counter.  
  
"And they're off!" exclaimed Mex, running down the ramp and pulling his brother by the wrist.  
  
"See ya, líder audaz!" shouted Tex.  
  
"When Tex and Mex are out," said Keystone with a smirk, "you _know _you're running late that day."  
  
"Until the sun gets tired of looking at us, we bid you farewell," Riddle told Jack.  
  
"He means see ya at sellbacks, Jack," corrected Topper, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Yeah…" Jack said quietly as the remaining boys headed down the ramp, through the gate, and into the streets. "See ya at sellbacks."  
  


_--------------------------------------------------_  


  
Mid-afternoon, Jack spotted the first few newsies coming back from the day's selling…with papers under their arms. Damn. He had been hoping they would make full sales today. Inside, he was now feeling even sicker than before, knowing what was next.  
  
"Can I take a break, Chuck?" he asked.  
  
Chuck laughed. "And miss the best part? Of course not!"   
  
"I have to agree with Jack; this really isn't fair," said Eli.  
  
"Who ever said this had to be fair?"  
  
"The woikin' boys of New Yawk," mumbled Jack, his eyes on the newsies as they made their way through the gates.  
  
"What was that?" asked Chuck.  
  
"Nothin', Chuck…just thinkin' 'bout when I was a newsie."  
  
"I still don't understand why you liked selling papers so much."  
  
"Best yeahs of me life," he murmured.  
  
"Looking at those boys, sometimes I think I'd like to be a newsie," said Eli. "Just not today," he added. Jack nodded.  
  
"It ain't fair dat dey're makin' a few extra cents by screwin' over some teenage boys."  
  
"Like I said, Jack," repeated Chuck, carefully watching the boys as they came up the ramp, "no one ever said it had to be fair."  
  
Like every other day, Keystone was the first to do sellbacks. He held up a wad of papers for Jack to see.  
  
"Selling sucked today," he told Jack. "Too many papers, not enough people to buy them. Hell, Topper alone sold three to Miss Cate just to get rid of 'em. I need twenty-one cents back today if I'm going to break even."  
  
Jack swallowed. "Well, Key…dere's a problem today."  
  
"What kind of problem?" asked Keystone, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"Y'see --"  
  
"No more selling back your papers," Chuck was all too happy to inform the boys.   
  
The boys exploded into an outbreak of outraged cries. Jack could hear Tex and Mex speaking feverishly to each other in Spanish but couldn't understand a word.   
  
"That true!?" Keystone demanded.  
  
"Mr. Grayson declared it himself this morning," answered Chuck. "Early meeting."  
  
"Then you guys knew about this when we bought out papers this morning?"  
  
The boys looked at Jack for a reply, hopefully a rebuff.  
  
"Yeah," he admitted after a pause. "I knew. But if I told you guys, I'd get fiahed. Youse all understand, doncha?"  
  
Keystone flung his remaining newspapers at Jack angrily. Jack had to duck to avoid the flurry of ink and paper; it sailed behind him to where neat bundles of unsold newspapers were wrapped in twine, waiting to be cut free and sold.  
  
"This is bull, Kelly!" he yelled.  
  
"They can't do that to us!" came Topper's voice from the back.  
  
"They can do whatever they want," observed Outlaw. "It's their paper."  
  
For a brief moment, Jack mistook Outlaw's voice for that of Racetrack's.   
  
"We'll starve if we don't get the money from selling out papers back!" argued Smalls.  
  
"Oh, poor you," Chuck laughed from his chair. Eli nudged him fiercely. "They earned it, Eli!" Chuck promptly moved from his seat to a new one when Pulley, Topper, and Smalls all chucked their remaining papers in his direction. "HEY!"  
  
"You've got to do something, Cowboy!" pleaded Spinner. "Just go to Mr. Grayson and tell him that they have to change it or something!"  
  
"I can't do anythin' about it!" Jack told them all. "It's outta my hands."  
  
"Then _we'll _find a solution," Keystone informed him. The other boys nodded in agreement behind him.  
  
Jack arched an eyebrow. "How d'ya expect ta do dat, Key?"  
  
"Easy," he said, looking behind him to his boys, almost as if for assurance, before proclaiming it to Jack:   
  
"_We strike_."  



	5. Repercussions

_Author's Notes_: Finally, Chapter Five. I know it's been a long time (eight months) since I posted a new chapter, and I apologize profusely to those who haven't forgottten about this story (Eyela, thank you!) and to those who have (thank you, everyone who's reviewed the past four chapters), since it's my fault for getting so far behind. For a long time, I didn't have the drive to work on this story, but I think now I'll be able to. I hope this chapter is satisfactory for everyone :D I haven't started Chapter Six yet, but I've mapped out the plot for the next few chapters, so at least I'm not totally lost anymore. Please continue giving feedback! It's always uplifting.  
  
(And a Cliff Notes version of the story so far, for those who haven't read the story in eight months: The year is 1903. Jack went to Santa Fe to earn money before sending for Sarah, his fiancée, to join him. He gets a job at the local newspaper, the Santa Fe Dispatch, as distributor and moves into a boarding house, run by Catharine "Cate" Bennett, who's got a thing for Jack but won't do anything about it because a) she's shy, and b) he's engaged. Jack works at the paper with the Cartwright cousins, Eli and Chuck (the latter hates the Santa Fe newsies, led by Keystone). One day Jack's boss, Mr. Grayson, decides to get rid of sellbacks, where the newsies return their unsold papers to break even, because it's costing the paper money. The newsies, remembering Jack's stories of the New York strike, decide to have their own strike.)  
  


_Chapter Five_  
  


"Strike?" Jack asked incredulously. Behind him, Chuck barked out a laugh.  
  
"Yeah, a strike!" Keystone verified with confidence, ignoring the elder Cartwright. "Like the one you guys held a couple years back in New York!"  
  
"We read about that!" Outlaw informed Jack. "Every last word of it! And you told us the story, too!"  
  
"No more papers til they give us back our sellbacks!" proclaimed Topper, acting more self-assured than Jack had seen him act before.  
  
The boys behind Keystone began to chatter in agreement with him, Topper, and Outlaw. "Down, boys!" he snapped.  
  
Silence befell the group. After a few moments, Smalls piped up and asked, "What? Do you think we can't do it?"   
  
"No, I don't t'ink you can do it," Jack remarked in reply.  
  
"How can you say that!?" demanded Keystone. "You guys did the same thing!"  
  
"It was different fer us. Real different. We was goin' up against different people dan all youse are gonna."  
  
Keystone rolled his eyes. "This is Alvin Grayson we're talking about, Kelly, not Old Joe Pulitzer! It'll be a pushover, just watch."  
  
"That ain't the way it's gonna be at all, Key," Jack told him seriously. "It's hardah dan dat. An' like I said, we was different."  
  
"You weren't different at all!"  
  
"Santa Fe ain't New Yawk!" replied Jack ardently. "We had strength in numbahs. We had the boys of Brooklyn ta support us, the boys of Queens, an' every othah newsie dere was in the city. We even had all the sweatshop kids, when it all came down to it!" He pointed at the boys. "Dere's barely any of you all compared ta what we had."  
  
"Are you afraid that maybe we'll succeed?" questioned Riddle, for once not speaking cryptically. "Succeed over worse odds than you had?"  
  
"Riddle, boy," said Keystone, his eyes glittering with a dangerous knowledge, "he doesn't have it right. I mean, look at us. We don't have a Refuge, we don't have those hired heavies, we don't have half the things they had to deal with. He knows we're going to beat Grayson easier than he did, that we've got it in the bag without breaking a sweat, and that _scares_ him."  
  
"You t'ink all dat makes it easiah!?" cried Jack, slamming his palm down onto the counter. "Youse gonna get a big head, Keystone," he warned, "just watch it."  
  
"You really are afraid of us succeeding…"  
  
"I'se afraid you'll fail," he rebuked sharply.  
  
"You just keep saying that, Kelly," Keystone growled in a low voice. "Keep lying to yourself. The boys and I are going to make it."  
  
"Youse all do whatcha want, den," he said, smoldering, "an' I won't stop ya."  
  
"Thought we could depend on you, Cowboy," muttered Outlaw. A few others mumbled their acquiescence.  
  
"Not in dis…not when youse all won't listen ta what I'se got ta say."  
  
"You just want this job of yours!" accused Trusty. "That's probably the other reason you don't want us to do this!"  
  
"It ain't want, Trus, it's _need_."  
  
"Bull!" exclaimed Hound, adopting Keystone's curse. "You could quit any time you want to!"  
  
"I ain't a kid!" Jack yelled. "I can't just get rid of me woik and sell papes, or whateveah pieces I needs to pick up ta make it bettah again. I can't. I need dis job. It's woith more ta me dan--"  
  
"Then anything?" finished Keystone. "Then us?"  
  
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Whaddya want me ta say, Key? Dat you kids are like my kids, my bruddahs in newspapahs, dat I can't do anythin' unless it benefits youse all too? I can't say dat, Key, 'cause it ain't true. You know dat I'se got responsibilities ta live up to. I need ta get my fiancée heah, I'se gotta have money ta live on --"  
  
"So do we!" he interrupted. "Like I said, all this crap is blinding you from what's important. The newsies are important. And you were a newsie, so you're one of us."  
  
"I ain't a newsie anymoah!" he snapped.  
  
His words echoed through an eerie silence in the booth and into the Courtyard. Jack could almost hear Chuck's slimy, triumphant grin behind him.  
  
"You hear that, kids?" he practically leered at them. "He's not with you, and that's final."  
  
"This is bull!" Keystone bellowed again, whipping another newsie's papers at Jack. "You hear me, Kelly? Cock-and-bull! And like I said, we'll make it without you." He spat on the counter. "You just watch." Key glanced over his shoulder at the other newsies. "Come on, boys."  
  
The newsies filed out of the front lot in seething silence, those still with papers throwing them to the ground. Most followed Keystone through the gate and around the corner, where Jack knew the Lodging House was. He could see a few others, though, the lucky ones with families, take different turns towards their homes. A sharp wind blew sheets of newsprint across the Courtyard. He looked at Eli.  
  
"Is dat it?" he asked. There was no answer. He repeated, "Is dat all? Eli?"  
  
"Yeah, that's it." Eli mumbled. "You did a brave thing."   
  
"If I was brave, I woulda joined 'em…"  
  
"No, you did the right thing. You're trying to make them see sense…you're trying to keep them from falling. You didn't do anything wrong."  
  
"They don't trust anyone now. Nice job," Chuck smirked, clapping Jack on the back; Jack recoiled at his touch. Chuck, you damned son of a bitch. "What's your problem?"  
  
"I should be goin' home," he murmured, troubled, grabbing his hat from its nail on the wall.  
  
"So soon? I was gonna celebrate."  
  
"Cut it out, Chuck," Eli said as Jack headed for the door. "See you tomorrow, Jack?" he called out hopefully.  
  
"Probably," Jack replied bleakly. "See ya, Eli."  
  
"See ya, Jack…"  
  
He let the door slam behind him.  
  


_--------------------------------------------------  
_  


Jack sat down with a sigh, staring at the piece of paper in front of him.  
  
_Dave_, he wrote, not bothering to start with "Dear". He let the words flow freely after that.  
  
_Remember how we once said that the worst thing that ever could happen after the strike would be another strike? Well, the worst happened again, and this time I'm not even really home for it.  
  
The Dispatch banned sellbacks today, and Keystone decided to have the boys strike. They're all real excited about it. They think they've got just what it takes to overcome Mr. Grayson. These boys…Dave, you should see these boys. They're just like us and how we used to be. They won't even listen to me when I try to reason with them. Sounds just like you and me, doesn't it? I thought I was too smart to listen to you. But everyone's wrong at least one time in their life, ain't they? I sure was.  
  
They hate me now, don't trust me one bit, so much that Key actually spat at me. Just 'cause I wouldn't side with them and lose my job because of it. I know what the Dispatch is doing is wrong, but…I need this job so bad. I want Sarah to come and be with me. I want to be an adult about it, you know? But here I am, writing you, 'cause I don't know what the most important thing is. I can't escape it.  
  
Part of me wants to ask you what I should be doing. But I know this ain't like 1899, this is 1903. You've got your own voice now, and I've got my own words. You're half a world away, and that's too far for you to do anything, and we're not kids anymore. And these boys are frustrating the hell outta me, Dave, with how they won't listen. I guess I really gave you a hard time then too, didn't I? How do I deal with someone like me? I really don't know.   
  
Tell Sarah that I love her, and that I think she can come soon. And tell the boys thanks for the encouragement -- I know how hard it was for you to gather them all up.  
  
Same as,  
Jack  
  
_He set down his pen gently, as if the tiniest noise could awaken the entire Boarding House. He wished he had an envelope; he'd ask Cate for one tomorrow. Sitting back in his chair, Jack sighed and moved to extinguish his light. It was late, near eleven, and sleep would be an escape from thinking. He let his eyelids fall…  
  
"_Riddle_!" screamed a voice from outside. Jack startled and looked out his window. In the moonlight he could see the chocolate-haired newsie, who he guessed had been strolling outside the boarding house, standing stationary. Dashing up to him was…Goldy? It _had _to be her; Jack didn't know anyone else so young with hair that color. But why was she out at this hour of the night?  
  
"Hold up, Riddle, c'mon! "I've been trying to find you for forever! You weren't at the Lodging House!"  
  
"Keep your voice down!" Riddle hissed, demanding, "What are you doing out of your bed? They're probably worried sick about you at home!"  
  
"I snuck out after they put me to bed. What do you care? They don't!"  
  
"Shut up and don't say that, Goldy. They do." This was the second time today that Jack had heard him speak so frankly, without his trademark mystery.  
  
"I need to talk to you! I wanna join the strike, Riddle!"  
  
"You're not even a newsie, Goldy."  
  
"I could start being one now! There's not even any papers for me to sell. I can help you guys strike!"  
  
"Did you ask Keystone first?"  
  
Goldilocks looked at her feet and shrugged. "…Maybe…"  
  
"And the leader's answer?" Riddle asked. He sighed. "Listen, Goldy, I'll tell it to you straight: if Keystone tells you no, that means you don't go to anyone else. You should know that."   
  
"Since when does Key care where I go and what I do?"  
  
"Since always. Don't say stupid things."  
  
"I'm not saying stupid things!' She stamped a foot on the ground. "It's just…Riddle…"  
  
He sighed again and put a hand on her shoulder. "I know, I know, Goldy. C'mon, I'll walk you home."  
  
"You gotta help me back in the window, then," Goldilocks told him matter-of-factly as they headed farther down the street; Jack had to strain to hear them. "I can't reach it by myself, and I don't wanna let them know I snuck out."  
  
"All right…just promise me you won't do it again?"  
  
"I promise, Riddle, as long as…" He couldn't make out the rest of her statement; she and Riddle had moved too far out of earshot.  
  
What were they doing out so late? he asked himself, rising out of his chair. And what had she been trying to tell Riddle before he cut her off? And before her voice faded away…? Riddle would have berated him if he had known whose window he had been under. _You're not supposed to be listening to us, traitor. And why would you care why Goldy's out of bed after dark and looking for me? That's right, you shouldn't. Leave us alone, yahoo! _ He was sure the boy's words would have resembled that. If it were Keystone, he was sure the rebuking would be much worse.  
  
Jack decided to go downstairs to try to find an envelope for his letter to David. Riddle and Goldy's conversation, he thought, combined with the issues discussed within his letter, had killed any chance he had of getting any sleep that night. He knew there was a study on the first floor; he could probably find at least one envelope down there. He opened the door of his room gradually, praying it wouldn't creek, and tiptoed down the stairs, going as slowly as possible to make sure he didn't miss one and go tumbling headfirst onto the first floor hardwood. At first he wished he had brought his candle, but when he noticed a faint glow coming from down below, he chose not to go back for it.  
  
Creeping around the staircase towards the light, Jack saw the lamp it came from, within a room with its door cracked open. The study. He didn't know who was inside and, not wanting to storm in on them, he pushed the door gingerly with his index finger, letting it swing open slowly. The room's habitant gasped and whipped her head around. It was Catharine, sitting in a stiff-backed wooden chair and wearing a long white nightdress, a book open on the desk in front of her.  
  
"Jack!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Lord Almighty, you just about scared me to death. What are you doing down here? It's near midnight."  
  
"Shouldn't you be in bed, Cate?" he asked, looking at her skeptically and momentarily forgetting all about the envelope. In the dim light he could see for the first time the exhaustion wearing away at her features, and how pale she was, even against her white nightgown. "Or d'ya always run on four hours of sleep?"  
  
"Three, usually," she replied with uncharacteristic irony, removing thin-framed spectacles from her face. "Come in, if you're not going right back to bed."  
  
Jack entered the study and took a seat in an upholstered chair next to the right wall's full bookcase. "You woikin'?"  
  
"I was earlier, but now I'm just reading…it gets my mind off things," she said, folding up her glasses and tucking them into a drawer. She gestured to the open book.   
  
"What are you readin'?"   
  
"Huckleberry Finn, by Twain…have you ever read it?" Jack shook his head. "It's about this precocious little boy who helps his slave friend escape by going down the Mississippi River on a raft. It's a little hard to read sometimes because some of the characters have accents, though…" She paused, flushing as she realized her slip of tongue. "I didn't mean it that way, of course, Jack."  
  
He smiled. "I undahstand, Cate. Do ya do dis every night?"  
  
"Not usually…just lately, I suppose. It's been hard to sleep. I've had a lot on my mind, with the boarding house and all…" She brushed a few loose strands of brown hair behind her ear, and he could see her swallow a yawn. "But listen to me, going on and on like a senseless chatterbox and not even asking about how you are. Am I allowed to ask why you didn't come to dinner tonight?"  
  
"Toppah told ya what happened, I'm shoah."  
  
Catharine smiled with a little guilt. "He did…but I thought that you'd like to tell me your side of it." She eyed his letter to David, still clenched tightly in his hand. "Or did you tell Sarah about it?"  
  
"What?" Jack blinked and looked down at the letter. "Almost forgot about dis…no, it ain't ta her. It's to 'er bruddah, Dave. I actually came down heah ta get an envelope."  
  
"Can I give it to you tomorrow?" Catharine asked, holding in another yawn. "I don't quite know where the envelopes, and I don't really care to rummage through the desk right now. And I know how unlike me that is."  
  
"It's fine," Jack told her, wondering just what was causing her trouble. It seemed everyone was beginning to have a hard time. Or perhaps they had had burdens before as well, but he had been too blind to notice them.  
  
"If…if you want to talk about it, Jack, you know I'm always around to lend an ear," she said carefully.  
  
"Same," he offered in return, rising from the chair. "But right now, comfortable as dat chair is, I think I'se goin' back up ta bed…want me ta walk you to you room?"  
  
"I was going to finish my chapter, but I think it can wait until tomorrow."  
  
"It can wait, Cate…you needs sleep more dan anyone heah, with all ya do."  
  
"I know…it's just…" Catharine sighed and extinguished the light. "I don't know," she finished lamely. "It's probably going to be a rough time for everyone for a while."  
  
"I was just thinkin' dat…" He took her arm. "Where is yer room, anyway?" he asked, suddenly realizing he didn't know where he was leading her.  
  
"Just two doors down from this one. Mr. Kincaid and I are the only ones living on the first floor." Noticing his confused look, she smiled and explained: "Mr. Kincaid helps me out with the books from time to time…he's retired on most days, but used to be the sheriff. He still does some work there in the early morning. He's has been here ever since I was young. The year my father died, I gave him his first floor room. It's how my father wanted it." Catharine turned her doorknob. "Thank you, Jack, for the long walk home," she teased.  
  
"Any time." There was an awkward silence. "G…g'night, Cate," Jack finally said. "Get some sleep; you looks like ya needs it."  
  
"Thank you, Jack. Good night to you too."  
  
He watched her enter her room and shut the door with a soft click. The darkness in the hallway was suddenly thick and deep; he really wished now that he had gone back for his candle. Blindly and carefully, he groped the walls to find his way through the darkness and gave thanks every time he kept from knocking a framed picture from the wall. He followed the same procedure as he traveled up the stairs. At the top he could see the flame from melted-down candle he had left lit, and he used it as the beacon to his room. Once he was settled for the night, Jack sat in bed and watched it until it consumed itself, lacking the heart to snuff the flame out himself.  
  



End file.
